


Idealism Sits in Prison

by memelessness



Category: Original Work
Genre: 3rd person, Action, Fantasy, Fiction, Future, Gen, Paranormal, scifi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelessness/pseuds/memelessness
Summary: From the fire, a dragon is bornTentative name. More of a passion project than anything





	1. Prologue

The alarms blared overhead, feet stomping urgently against the cold metal. Astraea had been sure that she was, in fact, herself right now, trying desperately to keep her breathing steady as she fought against the incessant noise. Had they always been so loud? She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that it hurt.

She stopped before turning the corner, hands pressed against the cold walls. She could hear the softer footsteps at the other side, quickly forgetting the painful sirens. Then suddenly every sound went away. She finally decided to look over.

A pair of blood red eyes meet hers. Recognizable, but not quite yet. She knew them, but she didn’t- it was a wrongful kind of gut-feeling, for now- and she realized then that she wasn’t currently herself. She tried to refuse the eyes, auburn curls perfectly framing their face. Her body declined her request, instead approaching the woman in enemy attire.

Burgundy leather clung to the villain’s body, nearly hiding the blood that soaked in deep. No one would’ve been able to tell, aside from the few splatters that clung to her freckled skin. The familiar stranger’s sadistic smile softened, blood-curdling glow beginning to fade. She sheathed her weapon, cracking her knuckles as she approached, and opened her mouth to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I do want to say that this isn't exactly a multi-chapter story, but rather that I'll be posting in sizable chunks. I hope you enjoy!

Naielle shot straight up, wincing as sudden pain reached their eyes. They held their head, fingers curling into their wavy, black hair. Squinting at the lack of light, they tried to take in their surroundings. White walls. Padded floors. A light in the corner that flickered relentlessly. That nightmare… Was it all just a dream?

They rolled onto their back, sinking their weight into the bed. The medical bay had been beyond empty this afternoon. Or was it already night? They waited patiently in case a doctor had noticed their sudden fit, but for whatever reason, nobody came.

The sliding door opened, breaking apart the deafening silence. A young woman walked in, unbrushed, flaxen hair attempting to hide her brilliantly golden eyes. She didn’t seem happy, but she forced a smile anyway.

“Hey, there! Didn’t know you were awake.” She pulled up a chair, pressing her arms into the bedsheets.

Naielle sat up once more, returning a smile to their younger cousin. With their back pressed against the wall, they held their hands in front of them, ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ They signed carefully, still caught in a restless haze.

Her smile faltered slightly, but she tried to laugh it off, “I just… Yttrium’s not back.” She broke contact with the other’s abyssal eyes, “I know I’m probably overthinking it, but a two-day trip doesn’t take two weeks you know?”

The mute didn’t really know how to respond. It was obvious by now- he was dead- but for the Admiral to say nothing, ‘Astraea, I…’ They moved their hands hesitantly, choosing every word with proper care, ‘I’m sure we would’ve been told by now if his mission failed. Maybe the team got delayed?’

She laughed at the thought, leaning back into her chair, “Yeah… you could hope, huh?” She looked away, mentally tracing the spots across the porous ceiling, “But that’s just in the job description.” Returning her attention to the hospitalized wreck, her eyes finally settled on the tightly stitched wound, “Still hurt?”

Naielle shook their head, ‘It’s bearable.’ They had been in the medical bay for perhaps two and a half weeks now? It was hard to tell without some form of a clock. Maybe that had been the intention.

At another point in the universe, a small troupe was discussing its fate.

“…and they’re landing in Brauma. Ka’hett’s respecting the ceasefire so long as they leave after they’re fully rested.” The young woman spoke up, tanned hand hovering over the monitor.

“So, we only have a small window.” A ginger man spoke to himself, analyzing the situation carefully. Who would he send? Not his best soldiers, that would be reckless, but most definitely not his worst.

“Commander, if I may,” The woman spoke up again, arms formed perfectly in their country’s salute, “let me go alone on this mission.”

The youngest man slammed his hands to the table, violet eyes flickering as a pen bounced from its resting place, “Absolutely out of the question!” His light brown hair was anything but tame, nearly hiding his fearful expression, “I just-” He attempted to calm himself, stepping away from the others, “What if you get killed?”

She raised a delicately trimmed brow at the question, moving a stray curl away from her shoulder before folding her arms firmly against her chest, “So what?” Her voice held no hesitation, expectant eyes waiting for an answer.

The youngest mimicked his sister’s motion, eyes focused on the monitor. More specifically, a picture of a long-familiar woman caught by some Federation camera, “I…” He struggled to find his words, clicking his tongue quietly before curling his fingers into the sleeve of his shirt, “Helah’s just like us, almost. More so like you. We don’t know what she’d be capable of. What if she knows how-”

“Unfortunately, this is the best course of action.” The commander spoke tentatively, firmly placing a hand against the smaller woman’s shoulder. “You’re our best soldier though, Michele.” He spoke firmly, meeting her amber eyes, “You better act like it.”

She smiled with ferocity, removing her leader’s hand, “Haven’t been in almost a decade.” She returned to the monitor, making a few gestures before returning to her brother, “Here’s what we need to do.”

The Ka’hett had kept her promise, providing a room for the visiting soldiers of the Zion. She looked around, waiting for something (or rather someone).

“Ka’hett Versh’ka.” A voice nearly startled her, a man in the cleanest of clothing extending his hand toward the Milotessian leader, “I would like to personally thank you for allowing us to stay here.”

She wore a mask in the face of this acquaintance, voice almost monotonous as she accepted the hand, “Let’s hope you remember this when your Admiral decides to fire upon my people.” She examined the room once more, head unmoving, “I was told there would be eight soldiers joining us. I’ve only seen six.”

The mask was made of plaster, thin, black fabric hiding her eyes. A burgundy leather strap held it in place, pressing firmly into her short, dusty-brown hair. It was painted black with many golden repairs made. It heavily resembled a skull, perhaps that of a rather large bird.

The doctor was hesitant, breaking the handshake, “Yes, but two of them died on the way here. We had to send them out through the airlock.”

Her tongue clicked upon the thought. To her people, a sendoff without a funeral was far too unorthodox. And what of their family back at their mothership? These were thoughts she shouldn’t even concern herself with, but they broke her heart just the same, “That’s a shame.” Her voice was unwavering, “Would you like us to hold a funeral in the name of Kala-hera? I can allow you to stay longer, if necessary.” It wasn’t an honest offer she wanted to make, but she had to buy some time.

“No, I think we’re good.” He smiled back (almost as if to say, “Thank you for the offer,” but instead it struck Versh’ka as “This was all part of the plan.”), “The same thing would’ve happened back at base, just more people. Our Admiral would prefer we cut out the middleman.”

“If you say so.” She nodded, ignoring her weeping heart. She had to be strong for her people.

The distant sound of a horn went off, drawing their attention. The mast of a ship was barely in view among lofty buildings. Versh’ka approached the balcony, hands firmly placed against the stone railing. Now was the beginning of what they’ve all been waiting for.

“You’ve done a good thing for these people, you know?” The doctor followed, leaning nonchalantly beside her, “Not even a decade ago, they used to be heathens. They wouldn’t even consider wading in a lake, and now-”

“I remember.” She looked outward, smile well-hidden as her eyes attempted to flicker, “You seem to forget I was raised by those ‘heathens.’” The word dripped from her tongue like venom. Easily, she could kill this man over such insult. It would only take half a minute of her time, but, “So… Kelling,” She motioned briefly, silently requesting his name.

"Lazarus." He responded bluntly, plainly blue eyes beginning to wander.

“Kelling Lazarus.” She spoke quietly, taking the name into memory, “Don’t you have some patients to take care of?” She looked over her shoulder, gesturing over his remaining men.

He shrugged at the idea, pushing himself away from the banister, “Yeah, I guess I should.” And he finally left her alone.

Lazarus didn’t know much of the Milotessian language. He never personally knew anyone- no one that still had their tongue, anyway- and there were no written translations of the squiggly text. He knew a few, mostly in relation to their weird gods, but it’d always been a tricky language.

He knew Kelling (though sounding a lot like killing) meant healer. And sometimes, when words were combined, they made vague sense. Prym-hera (strong death) was the executioner. Every executioner had their own title as well. Karym (the first), Madeyah (the ruthless), and so on. The one he wanted to meet was Chel’rym, the indestructible, but she’s been retired for some time now.

He returned to his soldiers, scanning the area along the way.

Cameron jogged briskly down the hall, stray hairs restrained by a couple of bobby pins his sister had lent him. He needed a haircut. The Admiral had been yelling at him about it for the past… month now? He just wanted it long. Well not long, just longer. He had gorgeous blond curls, dammit, and he wanted his hair long enough to show them off. Of course he hated the regulation crew cut! Probably every man on Zion did! He stopped at the weight room door, one hand at his hip as he tried to catch his breath. He quickly punched in a code and the door swung open.

This early in the day there were only a few people that started their training- call time and breakfast weren’t for another two hours, after all- but there was one woman in particular that caught his attention.

“Morning, Astraea!” He ran over to the treadmills, happily greeting his twin.

Her eyes went wide, teeth clenching as she motioned to a neighboring camera.

“I mean, uh- Aluminum.” He corrected, leaning casually against the mirrored wall, “Never seen you up this early.”

Something that was admittedly unfair was the lack of regulations on women’s hair. If it was out of the way, the Admiral never cared. She was fickle like that. So, Astraea kept her just-as-glorious curls tied tightly behind her. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” She responded curtly, keeping up her pace. It was obvious her mind had been racing, she just couldn’t pin anything down to a single problem.

The brother climbed onto a neighboring treadmill, punching buttons seemingly at random, “Worried about Naie- Silver?” He started right at a brisk pace, just barely slower to the other.

“Yttrium.” She was very brief, knuckles white from long-clenched fists. There’d been something else, but she didn’t know if anyone would understand, “Silver’s fine. Pain’s gone away.”

“You talked to them?”

“Mm.”

They continued running, breathing very focused between the two. This had been expected of them for the past fifteen years, with help from their older cousin. Astraea used to have a rounder stomach she’d never been conscious about, having enjoyed far too many sweets. Cameron used to be far less confident, mostly due to a lisp that never left until his teenage years. They both used to be royalty, their rightful crowns expunged when Raeco finally fell. As was the will of the Admiral.

“What’d you say about Yttrium?” Cameron finally piped, facing the mirrors.

“I…” Her teeth clenched at the thought, “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” She reached for a button, the treadmill slowing down. She sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall.

Cam kept running, trying to find the perfect words for this situation, “Hey, you know I think you’re pretty kick-ass, right?” But perfect words never existed between them. Just small attempts at inspiration.

Astraea smiled quietly, both pairs of golden eyes meeting in sibling understanding, “Thanks. You’re pretty punk rock, yourself.”

Her main problem wasn’t Yttrium. Sure, if something were to happen to him it would shatter her, but how could she tell her brother about her real problem? How could she tell him about her newest dream?


End file.
